


Six Dead Cows

by wendelah1



Category: Parks and Recreation, The X-Files
Genre: Crack Crossover, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 18:10:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16351583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendelah1/pseuds/wendelah1
Summary: Following a side trip to JJ's Diner in Pawnee, Indiana, Scully and Mulder reopen a cold case.





	Six Dead Cows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maidenjedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maidenjedi/gifts).



> An alternate universe wherein early season six of The X-Files and season—whatever—of Parks and Recreation somehow line up. Also, Mulder and Scully end up in Indiana eating waffles rather than Arizona chasing down that X-File from "Drive."

Somewhere in the Midwest...

 _Well I'm back again for another night_  
_Of trying to break free from the sadness_  
_That I can't lay to rest_

Ronnie was in his trailer, minding his own business, when he got the news about the cows. He was settled in his coffin, earphones on, listening to some tunes, when he felt the knock on the coffin lid. 

"Ronnie? I need to talk to you."

 _This old honky tonk sure does feel like home_  
_And the music with the laughter seem to soothe my loneliness_

Damn it. What now?

He'd been on house arrest ever since the incident in Cheney, Texas had forced his clan to relocate. Apart from not being allowed to leave the trailer park without an escort, life hadn't changed all that much for him. He was still working for minimum wage at a fast food joint, though not doing delivery, obviously. His aunt and uncle were still nagging him to finish his AA degree at the local community college. 

Reluctantly, he opened the lid. Sheriff Hartwell loomed above him, his expression grim and his eyes glowing green. "Get out. Now."

~/~/~

Pawnee, Indiana

 

She had not signed up for this gig.

After the Oklahoma City bombing, no one could say that monitoring the sales of fertilizer was a waste of the FBI's resources. The work mattered, Scully kept reminding herself, it just wasn't what she had planned to do with her life. When the X-Files were reopened and handed over to Diana Fowley, Mulder had been offered his old job at Behavioral Science. At the same time, she had been offered her former position as an instructor at Quantico. 

They wouldn't have been in the same department, but they could have carpooled together. Gone out for drinks after work. _You mean, like on on a real date, Dana?_ she mocked. No, she knew that was asking the impossible. But they could have tried for some semblance of a normal life. 

But it was not to be.

When Mulder had turned his offer down flat, without even consulting her, she felt she had no choice but to do the same. "My work is here with you now. How many lives can we save? If I quit now, they win." 

Those were brave words. Heartfelt, too. The man had literally gone to the ends of the earth to save her life.

So here they sat, in a booth at JJ's Diner in Pawnee, Indiana. It was just a quick side trip en route to their next stop on the Bullpucky Parade. 

"The Great American Midwest. It's all about the waffles, Scully." 

JJ's waffles were the best in the state, according to "Road Food," an online forum where Mulder had begun lurking since their reassignment to Domestic Terrorism. It was a cute cafe, she had to admit, noting the Hoosier sports memorabilia on the walls and the striking, botanical patterned upholstery. The place was spotless and the coffee wasn't bad. 

There was a small group sitting at a table directly across from them. Not a family and definitely not tourists—they were all dressed in casual Friday, work-appropriate attire. Two members of the group had the newspaper on the table in front of them, and the others were craning their necks. 

"Six dead bodies. In Friendly Valley Park, of all places," said a burly man with a formidable mustache. 

Whoa. That was a lot of dead bodies. Was there a serial killer at work in Pawnee?

"I'm surprised no one notified the Parks Department," said the woman sitting next to him. She was an attractive blonde, wearing a pantsuit and sensible, low heeled pumps. Scully approved the look. 

Wait. Did she say the _Parks_ department?

"Maybe they did. It's Monday morning. I don't answer my home phone unless I recognize the number. I don't own a cell phone," said the Mustached Man, scowling. 

"Ron, I'm sure the police will catch whoever is responsible," said the man sitting on Ron's other side. This gentleman was gray-haired and heavyset, close to retirement age, Scully estimated.

"The police? You mean the Feds?" Ron snorted "They haven't a clue."

 _Is that so?_ Scully looked away from the group. She studied her nails while continuing to eavesdrop. 

"We'd better get going. It wouldn't do for my entire department to show up late to work." As the rest of the group stood up and filed out, Scully heard him say, "Leslie, you're with me." 

His entire department? These people were _his_ employees. 

Ten minutes later, Scully was still ruminating about that crack about the FBI. "They haven't a clue." The table hadn't been cleared. The newspaper was still sitting on the table. Mulder was still eating breakfast. 

"Mulder, I'm going to the restroom," Scully announced. Mulder was working his way through an enormous sirloin steak, three eggs, and a stack of flapjacks. As she passed the table, she casually picked up the newspaper. 

"SIX DEAD COWS!" was not the headline she had expected. 

She scanned the rest of the article. No. It couldn't be. Could it? She turned on her heels and set the paper down in front of Mulder, moving aside the plate of pancakes to make room. 

"While I'm in the restroom, could you take a look at the top story?" she said, tapping the headline. He glanced at the paper, grunted and kept chewing. Scully made a mental note to check his cholesterol when they got back to DC. 

~/~/~

When Scully returned to the booth, Mulder was already on his cellphone. He mouthed, "Indianapolis field office," at Scully. "Yes. I'll hold," he said, while signaling for the check. He put his hand over the receiver, "Pay the bill. I'll meet you back at the car." At the entrance he stopped and turned around. "Scully, I had my calls forwarded to you, in case I was still on the line. If Diana calls, ask her to fax anything and everything she can find on the Ronnie Strickland case to the Pawnee PD."

Diana. Scully's heart sank. 

After what had happened to Gibson Praise, it had been hard for Scully to look Mulder in the eyes. She'd lost Gibson, which was bad enough. But after Mulder was arrested, Diana had abandoned Gibson in the nuclear reactor, a fact conveniently left out of her report to OPR. It was, she was...unconscionable. 

Scully set her shoulders. This was an old X-Files case. For better or worse, Diana Fowley was now the agent in charge of the X-Files division. That meant Diana and Jeffrey would be the ones investigating this case. Mulder would know better than anyone if there was anything related to the case left to find. After the fire destroyed the basement office, he had kept working to restore the files. 

Mulder and Scully had both been assaulted, Mulder first by Ronnie and later by members of his...what does one call a group of vampires? Mulder would know. 

If the files were missing or incomplete, she and Mulder could give their statements. Vampires didn't show up in photographs, at least according to Mulder. She could certainly provide descriptions of Ronnie and of Sheriff Hartwell to a local sketch artist. Maybe Mulder could do the same for the other members of the...coven? No, that wasn't right. A coven was for witches. After that, they could return to their own assignment. Once the suspects had been apprehended, if need be, they could come back to identify them.

Yes, that was the logical approach. 

Scully paid the check, put the receipt in her wallet, and walked out to car. Mulder was leaning against the hood of the car, almost sitting on it, talking on the phone with someone.

"Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir. I understand. We will do that immediately." Exhaling, he put the phone back in his jacket. His face was impassive. 

"I haven't heard from Diana," Scully said. 

"No. And you won't. That was Skinner. She's out of the office until next week. Family emergency."

 _Thank God_. She had no interest in talking with Agent Fowley, working with Agent Fowley, or indeed, seeing Agent Fowley's face ever again. 

"In her absence, Skinner is assigning us to the investigation. He'll clear it with Kersh." 

"But Mulder, we're witnesses," Scully protested. "We'd be called to testify..." 

" _If_ Ronnie Strickland is the perpetrator. There is no evidence of that—yet." Mulder shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. It didn't faze Skinner last year. When Ronnie's body disappeared from the Houston morgue, he sent us straight back to Texas." 

"What do we do now?" They've been assigned to an X-File. Why wasn't she feeling more excited?

"The Pawnee PD is already at the scene. The Indianapolis field office is sending out their best forensic veterinarian. I asked them to fax what they have on the murdered cattle rustler and their interviews with the owners of the stolen cattle."

"How were they able to identify the owners?" Scully's knowledge of livestock protocol was scant. "Were they...branded?"

"The cows in question had gone missing from a livestock auction in Oklahoma a couple of months back. They'd been tagged with plastic gizmos prior to arriving at the auction." Mulder explained. 

"So you think whoever killed the cattle also killed the cattle rustler?" Scully said. It made sense, as much sense as this sort of crime ever did. 

"That is one possibility. It isn't entirely consistent with Ronnie's MO. Remember, he began with cows and moved on to murdering humans. This time, the police discovered the body of the alleged cattle thief. We'd better head out to the crime scene." He consulted the free map of Pawnee that he'd picked up at the Stop and Shop on the edge of town where they'd refueled the rental and replenished their snacks. 

"Which is where, exactly?" The police hadn't disclosed that information to the press. Still, it was a small town. Word was bound to get out.

"According to the map, it's not far from here. A large park on the edge of some undeveloped land. Someone from the police department is supposed to meet us at the entrance." 

"At least I'm not performing autopsies on the dead cows," Scully said. 

Mulder smiled. "You mean you're not going to offer to help out?" His face turned serious. "We need to find Ronnie, preferably before he starts taking out tourists."

"Maybe we need to put out a warning to the local community," Scully said.

"What are we going to warn them against? Pizza delivery? First, we need some evidence—something definitive that will tie Strickland to the crimes." 

Mulder was right. What if it wasn't Ronnie? They needed to follow the evidence, wherever it led them. "Yes. But it might save time if we find out the location of the closest RV park. Canvass the residents, bring witnesses in for questioning, if we can." 

"That's assuming he and his clan haven't already left for greener pastures." 

~/~/~

Ronnie looked around the room at the assembled clan. Everyone from the RV park was there, including Sheriff Hartwell. His aunt and uncle were sitting in the front row. He relaxed a bit. At least someone would be on his side. 

His aunt spoke first. "You're in big trouble, Ronnie." 

His uncle snorted. "That's for sure. I'm thinking we ought to just stake him out ourselves."

"But...I didn't do anything!" Ronnie wailed.

Sheriff Hartwell held up his hand. "I got a heads up this morning from the sheriff's department down in Eagleton. I'm afraid we may have another situation on our hands. Y'all remember Agents Mulder and Scully from last year's...incidents, the ones involving Ronnie? Well, they just happened to be in Pawnee when some bad news broke." The group groaned in unison, their eyes glowing green as they turned to glare at Ronnie. "I know. Worse yet, those two have been assigned to investigate." 

~/~/~

After they got out and removed the cones and crime scene tape blocking the entry to Friendly Valley Park, Mulder steered the Taurus up the long driveway to the parking lot. The facilities were basic: a dozen scattered tables, several barbecue pits, and a swing set. There were plenty of shade trees. The picnic area bordered a large meadow which was partitioned near the middle with a barbed wire fence. 

The six dead cows were lined up along the fence. Two police officers and two civilians were standing a dozen yards away. 

Mulder parked the Taurus in the space next to the black and white from the Pawnee police department, which was parked alongside a burgundy Buick sedan. As soon as she got a good look at them, Scully recognized the civilians as Ron and Leslie, from the group at the diner. Hopefully, they would not be able to place her.

"Hello. I'm Sergeant Fugleberg. This is Detective Wiseman. You must be the FBI agents we've been expecting." The sergeant was a tall, distinguished looking, rather portly African-American man in his forties. The other detective was a ordinary looking white male in his early thirties. 

Before Mulder or Scully could respond, the man from the diner interrupted."I'm Ron Swanson, head of Parks and Recreation. This is my assistant, Leslie Knope. What took you two so long? And which one of you is the vet? I'd like to get these poor beasts examined and removed as soon as possible." 

"Hello. I'm Agent Mulder. This is my partner, Agent Scully."

"I'm afraid neither of us is a forensic veterinarian," Scully began.

"Yes. That individual is still en route from the Indianapolis field office," Mulder said smoothly. "We were assigned to the investigation due to a possible connection with a prior cold case. However, Agent Scully is a medical doctor, and she would be happy to do a preliminary examination." 

Scully would not be happy but after giving Mulder the death glare he deserved, she dutifully pulled out a pair of exam gloves. The cows were all lying on their sides, two feet in the air, two on the ground. Rigor mortis was evident. Carefully she stepped around a pile of manure to get close to the first dead cow. Ugh. That odor was unmistakable. "Mulder. Come take a look at this."

"Okay. What am I looking at?" He sniffed the air and made a face. "Someone burned their dinner."

"I can smell it. See the scorch marks on its hooves? I can't say for certain, but I believe these cows may have been struck by lightening." 

"Lightening?" Mulder turned to the officers "The ground looks dry. Was there a storm last night?" 

The officers looked at one another. "I'm a pretty sound sleeper," Detective Wiseman said.

"No. There was not," Ron called out. 

Mulder cleared his throat. "Good to know."

"It could have been dry lightening," Scully countered. "Less common, but still plausible." 

"Ron. Can we talk?"

"What is it, Leslie?" 

Out of earshot, Scully watched as Leslie conferred with her boss. Whatever she was proposing, it looked like Ron had given her the go-ahead. Leslie pulled out her cellphone and began making her way back toward the parking lot.

Dodging more cow patties, Scully moved on to the next corpse. Mulder followed behind, and the two policemen took their spots in front of dead cow number one. Detective Wiseman began snapping photographs. 

"Look, Mulder. More scorch marks on the hooves." She lowered her voice. "And no puncture sites on the neck." She pulled off her gloves. "Sergeant, I need to speak to Agent Mulder." 

"No problem. We'll keep moving down the line," Sergeant Fugleberg said.

"Scully, it's okay. I know what you're going to say. Ronnie Strickland did not kill these cattle." He turned away, looked up at the sky. "Local law enforcement can handle things from here. I'll tell Skinner it was a dead end. We can get back to our regular assignment."

Scully put her hand on Mulder's shoulder. "I'll call the field office in Indianapolis. Why don't you talk to the officers?" 

"Fine."

A mere five minutes ago, he'd looked like himself again: boyish, excited, engaged in their work. "I'll meet you back at the car, Mulder." 

~/~/~

Somewhere in the Midwest

 _Turn it on, turn it up, turn me loose_  
_From her memories driving me lonely, crazy and blue_  
_It helps me to forget her so the louder the better_  
_Hey mister turn it on, turn it up, turn me loose_

After a short discussion, Ronnie had been returned to his RV. The clan decided to wait on the results of the FBI investigation before making their final judgment. 

The pounding on the casket lid interrupted his reverie. "Ronnie! Open up." 

No. This wasn't right. It was too soon. How could they have figured it out already? 

He pushed open the casket lid. "I already told you. I didn't do it. It wasn't me."

Sheriff Hartwell's eyes briefly turned fluorescent green. "It doesn't matter now. You lucky little son-of-a-bitch. My contact tells me they've called off the investigation. The FBI agents have moved on, which means you're off the hook—this time." He reached into the coffin, grabbed Ronnie by the shoulders, and whispered in his ear. "And there had better not be a next time, or I'll stake you myself." 

~/~/~

JJ's Diner, Pawnee, Indiana 

Once the FBI agents had left, the police had quickly released the crime scene. While the agents had still been dithering, Leslie was talking to Animal Control, making arrangements to have the carcasses removed. The police photographs and the FBI agent's report on cause of death should be enough for the owners to submit to their insurers. 

After what they'd been through, Ron agreed that a second breakfast was a must. Leslie couldn't get the image of those six dead cows out of her brain. Maybe another waffle would help. 

Ron looked almost as traumatized as she felt. He kept staring off into space and worse yet, he'd hardly touched his steak. Maybe she should try to get him to talk about it. 

"So, Ron. Were the Feds as clueless as you thought they'd be?"

Ron considered the question. "The guy, definitely. Worse even. The other agent was pretty smart, though. Dana Scully. She knew almost before I did what happened to those poor cows." 

Ron looked like he was going to cry. Oh God. This wasn't like him. "What is it? You can talk to me," Leslie said. He'd be okay. They both would. 

He closed his eyes. "That nearly broke me, Leslie. Such a waste of good beef."

**Author's Note:**

> The song that Ronnie is listening to on his Walk-Man is "Turn It On, Turn It Up, Turn Me Loose," performed by Dwight Yoakam. 
> 
> The incidents re: Gibson Praise which Scully is still feeling angry and remorseful about--and understandably so--take place during "The Beginning."


End file.
